


Things Keep Changing, Yourself Included

by Procrastinating_central



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Antarctic Empire, Dad Philza, Dream isn't a good guy, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Pack Dynamics, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo will probably show up at some point, Shapeshifting, Sleebybois inc is real, Updates often, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Procrastinating_central/pseuds/Procrastinating_central
Summary: Shapeshifting isn't allowed on the Dream SMP server- the shifters themselves are more than welcome, but they aren't welcome to shift. This wouldn't be so terrible, if there wasn't so much going on at all times, from countries rising and falling to wars over music discs. Still, the shifters manage as well as they can.That is, until a snowball starting with Philza joining the server and ending in a prison begins to roll. Tommy is exiled, and he gets sick- too sick. It doesn't take long to realize that there was something fishy going on- or, more aptly put, something furry.Maybe the lone human of Philza's family isn't so human after all.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 462





	1. An Avalanche Starts (or, Phil, you don't kill your kid because he asks you too, dude.)

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, hi, I have no clue what I'm doing. This was supposed to be like 500 words and now its way too long and still going.

When Phil decided to join the SMP, to follow his sons into whatever hell they had gotten involved in, he was surprised to find out that the creator- Dream, he thinks,the one that always wore a mask and the bright green hoodie- had banned any shifting. The shifters themselves were allowed, of course- most people in the group that would even want to be on the SMP server were shifters, banning them entirely would be asinine and leave Dream with very few people on the server- but the actual act of shifting wasn’t allowed. There was something about it being ‘too hard to control’ and that it ‘made moderation difficult’. The winged man had to wonder if Dream knew what his insistence on absolutely no shapeshifting could do to the shifters on the server, or if he just didn’t care- but honestly, the restriction was just something Phil would have to deal with later. Right now, he had to get to his sons, who had desperately called him at some point in the recent days.

He joins the server and is immediately faced with Wilbur- his Wilbur, his kid that he had sat through endless guitar ‘concerts’ for and had held through his first, painful shift- he was faced with his Wilbur screaming, begging Phil to kill him. The younger man (because he’s a man, now, with a son of his own that he would be leaving behind,) looks frantic, eyes wide and teary, with gunpowder smudged across the bridge of his nose. Phil has to resist the urge to wipe it off, as if this was just some mud left from one of Wilburs many romps through the woods surrounding their home- but his son's begging brings him back to the present. Phil’s stuck there, staring, only able to stutter out a reminder that Wilbur was his _son_ , his kid, he couldn’t just kill him as if he was nothing, as if he was just a rabid animal to be put down.

His wings flutter behind him, freshly clipped- _he had met with Dream, before joining, who had said that he was the only bird shifter on the server, and that sure he had wings but he wasn’t allowed to use them, and Dream couldn’t really trust Phil to not fly- “instincts, y'know?” he had said with a shrug_ \- but he couldn’t think about how wrong that felt, not when his son had his hand on a button, surrounded by the ramblings of a madman. And, Phil realizes with a startling sort of clarity, that that’s what his son had become, driven mad by… something. The rambling, raging mess in front of him was proof enough of that, a far cry from the laughing and sunny boy he had raised, and he-

In the middle of his musings, Phil hears a click. And then, far below, a hiss.

  
Moving on instinct, aided by his still-sore wings flapping and pushing him forward, Phil grabs his son, cradling him and wrapping his wings around the younger. His back takes the brunt of the blast radiating up from the city below, just one more wound to decorate his ever-growing collection, shielding Wilbur from his creation. The whole time, he’s sobbing, and laughing, until it’s an unholy mix of the two- Phil feels tears collect on his shirt as Wilbur once again begs for death, telling him that everything went wrong and that he needs to just die, that there’s nothing here for him. 

And Philza, he knows that a shifter being deprived of their animal form has an impact on the shifter, but he’s never seen anything like this. He’s never seen someone so driven to utter madness, to the point of scrawling frantic sayings on the wall of a shoddily made cave, to the point of burning down a city that they had made with their own two hands. He can’t focus on that for much longer, though, because Wilbur pulls away and, with a deranged smile on his face that’s at war with tear-filled eyes (a smile that’s nothing like the one that seemed to light up everyone around him) Wilbur presses a sword into Phil’s hand. He begs, once again- “kill me, killza, kill me, please” and Phil doesn’t know what to do. He hears the screams down below, smells the gunpowder in the air, and so.

He agrees. But he throws the sword to the other side of the room, watching Wilburs eyes track it before turning back to his dad. His dad, who is pulling out a knife, one enchanted to kill specifically shifters ( _to put them down, he thinks, the way almost everyone thinks they need to_ ) and draws his son into another hug, wrapping his wings around the younger shifter. He buries his face into Wilburs shoulder, barely flinching as Wilbur fists his hand into Phil’s wing, still sob-laughing and shaking like a leaf.

And Phil takes a deep breath in, and thinks of sitting on the beach watching Tommy and Tubbo taking turns riding on Wilburs back through the waves, and lets it out, thinking of all of his sons running through the forests in a no-holds-barred game of tag, thinking of Wilbur coming to him with Techno every other day to teach them to fight, thinking of so many long gone moments.

And then he slides his knife between Wilburs ribs, and holds him as his son smiles and heaves one last shuddering breath.


	2. Hey Dadza, Maybe Don't Trust the Man with the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm confused at why people are reading this but yknow what im down for it

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. Phil has a home in L’manburg, but it’s not like he wants to spend time there, not when everything is a reminder of one son, not when his oldest is out in an unforgiving tundra. Of course, it’s not like everything can be okay after one war, after one death, after one ghost- no, of course not. Because of  _ Dream _ , yet another son has been taken from Phil, his only fully human kid, exiled. In some ways, it’s better for Tommy- he doesn’t need a pack to function, not like the rest of his family, but in others- in others, it’s worse. He’s never really been away from his people before, he’s always had at least Tubbo or Wilbur, and Techno and Phil ready to step in if he really needed it, and Tommy himself is the most extroverted of extroverts- Phil has no idea how he’ll fare in exile.

He visits, once, and Tommy seems to be doing okay- a little more tired than normal, the bags under his eyes deeper and so much darker than normal, his mannerisms a bit more skittish; nothing that couldn’t be explained away as him not being used to being completely alone. Phil takes in the lack of a decent home, but is quickly assured by Dream, supervising the visit, that it’s just temporary while Tommy gets ready to build a real house. Phil leaves after a few hours spent under the masked man's watchful gaze, Tommy clinging on to him when Dream says he has to leave- and as such, so does Phil. Phil promises to come back, promises to visit every day if that’s what Tommy needs- and his son seems placated, letting go of his death clutch on his fathers wings and returning to his tent before the two men leave.  
But after that one visit, Dream comes to Phil, tells him that Tommy doesn’t want to see him anymore; doesn’t want to be reminded of what he lost, and Philza understands. It hurts him not to be able to see his little human, but he’ll do anything for his sons- including, it turns out, leaving them alone. He does find it hard to believe, after Tommy’s reluctance to even let him leave for a little while, but he doesn’t really see why Dream would lie about this- after all, Dream has been taking care of Tommy, right? And every time he asks for updates, Dream doesn’t hesitate to tell Phil about the latest that Tommy’s been up to- building a cabin with the help of Ghostbur, planning on building a tower so much like the ones that he used to make, going mining and all the normal things.

He does make mention of the fact that Tommy’s been staying up all night, sleeping all day, laughing at the idea that exile might be making Tommy a bit lazy. Phil laughs along with him, ignoring the sense in the back of his mind that something is wrong- he can’t quite put his finger on it, as if there is something just out of reach that he can’t remember, but Tommy has to just be adjusting to not having a set schedule like he used to. Phil does take a bit of offense on his son's behalf at the idea that he’s lazy, but Dream waves him away with a quick ‘Don’t worry, only joking.”

Phil also doesn’t miss the fact that, at each of these meetings, Dream not-so-subtly checks behind him, making sure that his wings are properly clipped. Phil allows it, hating every second of clipping his wings when he ached to be in the sky, but needing to be here for his sons. Dream always tries to hide these check ups, disguising them as just normal, every day chatter, but really- Phil hasn’t survived this long by being naive, and he’s raised four boys, if you count Tubbo. He knows when someone is trying to hide something, mask or not.

The lack of shifting took its toll on him, one he was sure every single shifter on the server felt. It wasn’t like his instincts- to soar, to be up high, to bring in his family close and care for them- it wasn’t like they were gone, no- if anything else, they were getting stronger. He started spending more time with Techno, the only one of his sons he could really take care of at this point- although, he thinks, his son doesn’t really need to be taken care of anymore. If anything, he’s there as backup for whoever pulls in his son with the promise of anarchy and war, because there’s no way that he could really ever go into retirement, no matter how much he wanted to.

He goes off, in search of a way to bring back Wilbur- Ghostbur- and hunts down the nearest woodland mansion, and does it again, and again, and again, gaining whatever limited information they have there on bringing people back from the dead. What he finds is… not promising, honestly, requiring multiple totems of undying to be set off in the near vicinity of the ghost- which means multiple deaths at one time. Despite all of his searching, this- going against the natural order of things, more than a ghost already does so, bringing life through the death of another- this seems to be the only way for him to bring his son back.

He’s gone too long, too long without talking to Techno- because, when he turns his phone back on and checks his messages, there’s well over a hundred waiting for him. 

_ Come home somethings happening _

_ FOUND TOMMY  _

_ Gonna kill Dream you can’t stop me _

_ Phil _

_ PHIL _

_ Dad _

_ Come home somethings wrong. _


	3. Apparently, No One Cares. (This is a lie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah i have a lot of this already written it's fine enjoy me remembering to actually update lmao

Tommy was going to die. Dream had found all of his hidden supplies, his hidden burrow, and had blown everything up. Everything he cared about was gone, everything he needed to keep safe was gone, Dream took it and destroyed it and he had nothing, not even a real home. 

Dream was his only friend,  _ his pack (where did that come from) _ , he helped Tommy know what he needed, what he deserved, he made sure that Tommy was aware of his place in the grand scheme of things. 

Dream was his worst enemy, he destroyed everything that Tommy and Ghostbur had made and it was his home, he once again took his home, his armor, his  _ everything _ . 

Everything that had happened today was made worse by the pounding headache doing its best to split his skull in half, an aching feeling that radiated through his entire body, leaving Tommy wanting to curl up under a nonexistent blanket and sleep the day away. He was exhausted, and he had nothing- there was nothing left for Tommy, there’s no reason for him to even be here if no one except for Dream would come see him, give him a reason to keep pushing through. Dream himself had said that no one wanted to see Tommy, because he was just thrown away and put out like a bag of trash, something to be put to the side until it was needed again. 

Ranboo had only visited a few times out of pity, thinking that Tommy was something to look down on and use as a charity case. Ghostbur had stopped visiting, apparently not even caring enough to keep visiting his little brother after the disastrous beach party- which, of course, everyone had ignored his invitations to. Because, of course, poor little Tommy, doesn’t even know that exile is supposed to be a punishment, can’t get it through his thick skull that no one cares about him, no one would want to spend time at any stupid party he would throw-

And of course, Philza. His  _ dad _ . He had promised to come back every day, but he had never even come back after that first day- he just wanted his dad, wanted to be wrapped up in warm wings that could protect him from anything, could keep even the worst heat of explosions away, could keep the loud-loud-unforgiving boom-hiss of tnt being set off from ever reaching him, would be able to soothe any of the aches and pains that whatever sickness he was coming down with. He  _ just wants his dad _ .

But his dad wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here, because he didn’t care- Dream had told him so, Dream had told him that Phil said that he didn’t care what happened to Tommy, didn’t care that he was hurt and cold and sick. And Dream wouldn’t lie, right? He doesn’t need to, Tommy would do whatever he says, would do anything to keep him from setting off the Tnt and destroying everything. 

But he had already done that, hadn’t he? Dream had taken everything he cared about, had left him without a place to live or solid walls, without protection against the cold and the rain and the mobs, and then he himself had left Tommy alone like so many others had.

So Tommy built a tower, like he so often had. He stood at the top, the ground below nothing more than a speck of green and blue far far down the tower. And he sat there, swinging his legs back and forth and back and forth, rubbing at his eyes and thinking about his brothers, and riding through the forests on Techno’s back, and crashing through the waves with his arms wrapped around Wilburs fin, or laying in the grass with Tubbos head on his lap, attracting any bees in the nearby area. He thought of his dad, wrapping him up in big strong wings and calming him when he cried about being different, about not being able to shift like his brothers did.

And he thought of Dream, banning his family from doing that. Banning him from being around his family. Controlling everything, everyone under his thumb and punished for stepping out of line. 

Controlling where Tommy went. Controlling where he lived. Controlling him, for the first time since he had joined the server. Keeping him weak, without tools or armor or protection, keeping him downtrodden.

Tommy jumps.   
  
  


And Tommy hits the water.   
  
He panics a moment at the cold, looking around the still smoking crater of Logsted, the home that his brother helped him make before he disappeared. There was nothing left here, nothing that he would need if he was going to leave- after all, Dream had destroyed everything, right down to the blankets he had wrapped himself in.

He curls up on the bed, one of the few things left untouched by the explosions, ready to leave tomorrow- once Dream inevitably comes by to visit, he would have an entire day that he wouldn’t be expected to see anyone. Then, he could leave, going off to the next biome, and then the next, until he found somewhere he could hide from the all seeing eyes of the masked man.

As the sun rises the next day, however, Tommy feels worse than ever before. He’s sweating, for once thankful that his blanket was missing, and exhausted and aching, limbs hurting as if they were growing into a whole new shape. Dream visits, just barely, not even talking to the boy- as if he was still punishing him beyond blowing everything he owns up. He just came through the portal, looked at the boy still huddled on the bed, and left. Which , honestly, might have been a blessing- because Tommy wasn’t quite sure if he would be able to lie, not in this state.

However bad he felt, he has something to do- a goal to work toward. He had to get away, get out of this hell. He stumbles to his feet, and, not sparing a glance backward, Tommy starts running.


	4. Tommy in the basement, what crimes will he commit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry for the delay in updating i forgot time existed anyway here have more pain

It wasn’t long before Tommy hit snow, and then hit night. At this point, he had been running for what felt like hours, body cold and hurting and he could barely even keep himself upright. In fact, after one particularly bad stumble over a snow hidden branch, Tommy fell to the ground. He lay there, not even having the energy to stand again, relishing in the cool snow upon his fevered and burning skin, and letting a gentle blanket cover him. A few minutes later, however, he realized that the snow didn’t feel good anymore. It wasn’t cooling him, it was burning, through the rips in his shirt and pants and soaking them all the way through.

Tommy couldn’t get up, though. He was just burning, and cold, and both at the same time, pushing against the ground but far too weak to hold his own weight up. So he lay there, accepting that he had just given up a quick death by fall to slowly freeze. It didn’t take him long to pass out, ready to pass on- maybe, if he was unlucky, he would come back like Wilbur, as a ghost. Or maybe he would just stay dead, and no one would be able to find him- after all, he was away from Dream who had been keeping him safe, and it wasn’t like the snow covering him would ever melt- it never did, in the deep tundra like he was.

The next day, he woke up. Feverish, and sick, and with blue fingers and toes, Tommy struggles to his feet, the snow that had collected in the night falling off of him in a pile. He shook himself out, forcing a smile onto his face no matter how utterly terrible he felt, and he continued on, stopping every so often to hack off a cough or breathe on his hands in some attempt to warm them up again. 

His pattern, however, was interrupted as a cottage rose out of the distance, small and cozy and confusing in its presence. No one lived out here- except. Except his brother, one of the ones that had never bothered to come and visit him, had never even thought that maybe Tommy would want to see the older shifter that had taken care of him while in exile. 

But- this, the little house out in the tundra that seemed so warm and inviting- it was just that; warm. And Tommy had remembered to bring a pickaxe, and there had to be a basement- but below that; he could probably carve out a hole. He could take from Techno’s stores, he would have his own food and his own place that no one could get to him in, he could be away from anything that would hurt him. So he goes inside- after making sure that Technoblade was out, that no one would be able to say anything about him being there- and he carves a little hole, cold and damp but still his. He steals food- food that he doesn’t deserve; and he steals a too-thin blanket to curl up under, and then stumbles down into the hole

He stays there a few days with no sign of Techno from above, but he’s still too scared to try and leave- he has bread, and a few pieces of meat that he thought the older boy wouldn’t really miss, and that's far more than he deserves, right? So he stays there, and doesn’t really care enough to worry when he finds it hard to take a full breath, when the breath he is able to draw rattles around his lungs, feeling like a knife striking him from the inside out. And when that turns into a slow cough, worse than anything he had had before, he can’t remember why that would be a problem, why the loud coughing that explodes from his lungs would be a bad thing.

Tommy stays curled up under the singular blanket he dared to take for days at a time, eventually unable to even take a bite of any of the food, the meat gone moldy and the bread seeming to turn to ash in his mouth and leaving him unable to swallow for fear of choking to death. And he realizes, quickly, that he doesn’t really want to die- not like this, not at the hands of some sickness that he isn’t strong enough to fight off taking him over; because he wants to control at least how he dies. But he can’t do anything about it now, not when the aching that had seemed to just be a side effect of hard work has taken over his entire body, feeling as if his very bones are shifting and shaking and rebelling against him. Not when he’s both freezing cold and burning hot, sweating even in the freezing cold that’s surrounding him but shuddering as his breath is hanging in the air in front of him.

This sickness does turn out to be his downfall. Not because he’s so lucky as to achieve death, but because he’s found. Technoblade comes home, and Tommy can’t even remember that he’s supposed to be keeping quiet, that Techno will be mad- he barely can even understand it, when Techno finds him, only making tiny pained but satisfied noises as his big brother scoops him up. 

And as he’s drawn into Techno’s arms, the stunted happiness, the sense of rightness, that Tommy feels is short-lived- because he passes out nearly the second he’s moved. 


	5. Sometimes, chat is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey osrry this is so late i forgot words existed lmao

Techno had been away from his home when Tommy escaped his own personal hell, on a poor imitation of the hunts he used to go on while shifted. He was in the nearby forest, chasing down monsters and animals alike, taking pleasure in the squeals of fear they all let out as they realized he was approaching. He might have been in retirement, might have given up being used as a tool for the gain of a million different versions of government, but- well, pigs are known for their lust for blood. Shifters are bound by their instincts, no matter how civilized they may be, and Techno was no different, the boar shifter used to hunting and the smell of blood that followed.

He stalked through the forest for days, knowing no one was looking for him and taking solace in the fact that, theoretically, he could shift. Dream would probably know, the masked man always knew when you did something wrong, but there was no one around, and therefore there would be no proof. However, the risk of getting kicked off the server, away from his dad and his brothers, or worse- being allowed to stay, but having his ability to shift taken away on a more physical level- was enough to keep the anarchist from making the attempt. Not yet, at least. Dream still had Tommy, and was still keeping eyes on Phil, and Wilbur was a ghost, not only missing but unable to shift even if it was allowed.

The ghost had complained about it, multiple times- how he missed the ocean, how he felt like part of him had been ripped out and replaced with cotton. Of course, he never remembered these conversations for too long, too much pain associated with the thought of never being able to shift again, or even to be back in the water that he loved so much. Techno didn’t know how to help, and it wasn’t like he could anymore- because his twin was missing, hadn’t been seen in weeks, not since he gave his last update on Tommy in exile.

Eventually, of course, the hunt had to end. The chat was satisfied, having been spamming it’s need for blood over and over again throughout the few days that he was away from home. Now, however, it was back to it’s normal chaos, leaving Techno with a constant ringing in his ears that sounds suspiciously like a repetition of the letter E. However, he did notice, occasionally there were a few chats telling him to hurry home, that he needed to help someone- that didn’t make sense, Phil was in one of the woodland mansions to look for information on ghosts- if he needed help, chat would be telling Techno to go there, not home. He brushed it off, pretending that the growing number of anxious voices he heard as he got closer to home wasn’t a stressing factor to his hurried pace. Instead, he got inside, lighting the fire and flinging his cloak over the nearest chair, and then hitting the kitchen for food that was actually cooked instead of bloodied raw meat. 

This went on for several days, Techno fixing the various issues that had cropped up while both he and Phil were away from the cabin and adding to his farm, taking care of Carl after many apologies for not letting the horse come along with him. The whole time, the chat growing more and more anxious with every passing day, telling him to go down below- but when he actually gets into the lowest basement, there’s nothing out of place. Within days, he’s mostly drowned out the chat-until.

Until they reached a crescendo, spamming that he had to go down-down-down, beneath the basement, beneath the foundation of the house; and he’s startled enough by the sudden spam that he does. He goes into the lowest basement, and stands there, arms spread wide and inviting the chat to tell him what else to do- until he hears a cough, rattling and wet and loud… directly beneath his feet.

Techno pulls out a pickaxe and finds a patch of loose stone that was definitely secure before- and mines it, staring into a dark hole in the ground. Eyes stare back up at him, almost catlike in their sheen as the light of the torch nearby reflects off of it- and then, taking in the rest of the cave, he realizes- this is his little brother. The same little brother that was supposed to be safe under Dream’s protection, away from anything that could hurt him.

Tommy.

Techno jumps down, leaving a trail of ladder behind him to get back up, and scoops up his little brother- his worryingly light brother, who smells of sick and radiating heat, snuggling into Techno’s chest. The boy lets out a tiny noise, before going completely limp, leaving all of his weight (no matter how little there really is) to be supported by the shifter, who sighs and prepares to struggle up the ladders without anything to help him.

Eventually, he does get up, going outside and around to get back in and avoid any more ladder climbing. Unwilling to let the boy out of his sight, he lays Tommy down on the couch and covers him with his cape, some small part of him gleeful at the sight of his packmate, his brother, underneath something so soaked in Techno’s identity- a claim, if you will, making sure the world knew that this was Techno’s pack. The shifter lays cold washcloths on Tommy’s head, and pours potions down his throat, and sits beside his makeshift bed for hours on end, taking stock of the injuries that he can see- burns, and scratches, and old scars.

After a while with no sign of Tommy returning to wakefulness, Techno realizes he has to take off the younger boys clothes, the soiled and patchy tshirt not doing him any favors. But as the shifter takes it off of Tommy, the chat nearly overwhelms him as he sees pure red, rage overtaking him. The shirt had been hiding so much from Techno, from the ribs poking out so far the shifter could count each individual one; the burn scars that look far too fresh to be from the destruction of L’manberg; the slashes that could only be made by someone skilled with a sword- and these aren’t wound of someone aiming to kill. No, the are the slashes of someone who want’s to torture, who wants to teach a lesson to the recipient. Techno knows them well- he’s given quite a few, after all, long ago. 

The chat is an angry haze, pleading and demanding blood, revenge, protect-heal-help Tommy. Techno agrees with it, for once, but he can’t act on it- not yet, not when he doesn’t know who, exactly, he should be going after. No, for now he has a little brother to take care of, to heal, and protect, and that’s what he’ll do.

Of course, he texts their dad first. Don’t call him an ungrateful son.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, hell yeah you go man Thank you for your support!


End file.
